Cannonball
by Jen11
Summary: Unusual circumstances force Joan and Adam to take a closer look at their relationship, and at what is standing between them.
1. Default Chapter

Rating: PG

Summary: Unusual circumstances force Joan and Adam to take a closer look at their relationship and at what ultimately stands between them.

Spoilers: Up to and including _Requiem for a Third Grade Ashtray_, I guess.

Genre: This one is shock full of angst, kids. Be warned!

Pairing: J/A angst, and a bit of I/A 

Author's Note: As big of a J/A shipper as I am, I also adore angst. Don't get me wrong: I love fluff.  You just won't find any here!  Or not yet, at least…

Suggested soundtrack: Delicate, by Damien Rice; Ooh Child, by Beth Orton; Cannonball, by Damien Rice; Two Beds and a Coffee Machine, by Savage Garden; and Comfortable, by John Mayer

            Joan Girardi knelt down, placing the bouquet of daisies at the foot of the headstone.  She traced her fingers over the engraved name, biting her lip in an effort to prevent the tears that were blurring her vision.

            "It's ok to cry, Joan," a familiar voice broke the silence.

            "That's not very convincing coming from the person who let this happen," Joan heaved an exasperated sigh.

            Rising to her feet, Joan brushed the dirt from her jeans and turned to face the young man who stood behind her.  His face was soft, marked by his trademark smile.  

             "Joan," the young man started to argue, but Joan cut him off.

            "Don't.  Whatever you're going to say is just going to confuse me more."

            The young man shoved his hands into the pockets of his tan jacket and tilted his head to the side slightly, watching Joan carefully.

            "Why are you here, anyway?" Joan asked, irritated.

            God's eyes flickered away from Joan's to watch a young couple entering the graveyard.  Joan followed his gaze and rolled her eyes.

            "Ugh, figures," Joan said, watching Adam and Iris walk hand in hand through the maze of headstones.  The hood of Adam's hoodie was pulled up on his head, despite the afternoon sunshine.

            "Come sit with me," God suggested.

            "What?" 

            "That tree over there," the young man pointed to a weeping willow tree a few yards away, "offers very good shade."

            Joan didn't bother asking why.  She knew she would get an even more confusing response.  

            "Fine, but I can't stay long.  I have to be home for dinner."

            God simply nodded, holding the hanging branches to the side for Joan.  The pair sat down and leaned against the strong trunk of the tree as the sun danced in dappled patterns across their faces.

            On the other side of the cemetery, Iris laced her fingers with Adam's, admiring the way their fingers fit together.

            "So why'd you bring me here, A?" she asked, glancing at her boyfriend.

            Adam was quieter than usual, letting his feet guide him between the graves.  He carried a bouquet of roses and a picnic basket in his free hand.  He looked at Iris for a long time before answering.

            "To have dinner with my mother." 

            To Iris, who had yet to be told the story of Adam's mother's death, Adam's answer was surprising, if not confusing.  Others in Iris' position might say that it was morbid.

            "A, I…" Iris didn't know how to reply.

            "Look, I told you that you didn't have to come," Adam replied calmly.

            "When you said you were going for a walk and having supper, how was I supposed to know that you were going to a graveyard?"

            Adam had no answer, and he didn't protest when Iris pulled her hand from his.

            "I'm going to go, ok?"

            Adam just nodded, and didn't notice the couple watching him from the shadows of a weeping willow tree nearby.  

            Taking her eyes of the couple, Joan turned to God for an explanation.

            "Death makes some people uncomfortable," God said after a long pause, keeping his eyes on Adam.

            Joan remained silent as she watched Adam place the bouquet of roses on his mother's headstone and sit down with the picnic basket.

            "Do you…" Joan paused, glancing at God again, waiting for reassurance.  This time, God looked at her.  "Do you think he wants some company?"

            "He has enough food for two," the young man smiled.

            Joan stood and made her way towards Adam.  

            "Joan!" God called out to Joan.

            "Yes?" Joan turned to look at the young man, unaware that Adam had heard his call as well, and was watching the scene with interest.

            God walked up to Joan, wiped the tears from her face with his thumbs, and smiled. 

"This hurts him just as much as it hurts you, if not more," was all that He said.

"What does that mean? I don't understand!" Joan replied, but gave up quickly when God turned and walked away, offering a trademark wave instead of words.  

Joan swallowed, and walked slowly across the grass towards Adam.  Adam, however, was more interested in the young man who had turned and was walking the other way, towards the gates of the cemetery.  He squinted slightly as the man got farther away, lingering at the edge of Adam's line of vision.  Adam frowned in confusion, convinced that the young man had just disappeared into thin air, swept away by a gust of wind.

"Hi," Joan smiled down at Adam.

"Jane. Uh, what are you doing here?" Adam asked, squinting one last time at the gates of the cemetery before he focused on Joan.

"I was visiting Rocky's grave," Joan answered.

"Of course," Adam nodded, and paused. "Do you want a sandwich?" 

Adam held up half of a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, and looked up at Joan shyly.  Her hair was tucked behind her ear on one side, and the rest fell into her face.

"Sure," Joan smiled and sat down next to her friend and took a bite of the proffered sandwich. "This is really good."

            "It's just pb and j, yo," Adam replied, unable to stop the faint rosy blush that coloured his cheeks.  Her smile was still incapacitating to him, no matter how hard he tried to ignore it.  He pulled his hood down onto his back.

            "Well, it's good." Joan said, examining the sandwich with a satisfied smile.

            There was a thick silence as the teenagers ate their sandwiches.  It was not the uncomfortable silence of nervous kids with nothing to say, but was quite the opposite.  All the words they had wanted to say - had been dying to say - were on the tips of their tongues, waiting to be set free.

            "My mom and I used to eat these every day for lunch," Adam admitted between bites.

            More silence as Adam handed Joan a juice box and a napkin.

            "She used to pick me up at lunch, and we would walk home to eat." Adam paused, considering his next words.  "One day she didn't show up."

Joan let Adam's words sink in, frowning as she struggled, yet again, not to cry. 

 "How often do you come here?" Joan asked, fighting with the plastic wrapper on

the straw of her juice box.

            "Once a week, sometimes more," Adam replied, taking the straw from her and opening it with ease.  He swallowed as his hand accidentally brushed hers, and he had to fight not to take her hand in his.

            Joan found herself staring at Adam's hands as he pulled the straw from the wrapper, and handed it back to her.  He had such beautiful, gentle hands.  Joan remembered Adam's soft touch from when they had kissed, and his cautious fidgeting with the bandage on her foot.  She had tried to ignore the spark that had shot through her on both those instances, and she tried – failing miserably, of course - to ignore it now.

            "Adam," Joan said, "why does it always feel like we're holding things back when we're around each other?"

            "Because we are, Jane," was Adam's effortless response.  Joan frowned and fidgeted with her shoelace.  This was not the answer she has expected.

            "But why? Why can't we just say what we're thinking?"

            "There're obstacles," Adam glanced back towards the gate of the cemetery. "There's fear, misunderstandings, obligations…and the guy you're always with."

            Joan's eyes jolted up to meet Adam's briefly before she, too, looked towards the gate of the cemetery.

            "Adam, we've been over this before. It's -" 

            "Complicated? Different? Not what I think it is?" Adam sighed. "What's your excuse going to be this time, Jane?" Adam gave Joan a pointed look, and she winced at the hostility in his voice.

            "That guy," Joan took a deep breath, "is the reason for all of this." Joan said carefully.

            A flurry of emotions flitted across Adam's face before he settled on confusion.

            "You're going to have to give me more than that Jane."

            "He's the reason I do all of the crazy things I do.  The chess club, AP chem, cheerleading…smashing your art…" Joan let her voice trail off as her last comment caught Adam's attention and anger filled his eyes.

            "You threw away our friendship for some guy?" Adam whispered.  His eyes were stony, and the cold that Joan had gotten so used to had replaced the usual soft light.  Once again, Adam had slipped out of reach. 

             "Goodbye Joan," Adam mumbled, stuffing bread crusts and napkins back into the picnic basket.

            Without even so much as a glance over his shoulder, Adam took off across the cemetery, guided only by blind fury.  He stopped at the gate to look back, and for a moment he stood absolutely still, caught in a form of trance, watching.

            Joan sat where he had left her, her knees tucked under her chin as sobs wracked her body.  It was in this moment, as Adam stood with one hand on the cemetery gate, that he could have sworn he heard her call out…but not to him.  Her eyes were lifted to the clouds, and she threw her words at the sky.


	2. In Times Like These

Rating: PG

Summary: Unusual circumstances force Joan and Adam to take a closer look at their relationship and at what ultimately stands between them.

Spoilers: Up to and including _Requiem for a Third Grade Ashtray_, I guess.

Genre: This one is shock full of angst, kids. Be warned!

Pairing: J/A angst, and a bit of I/A

Disclaimer: _Joan of __Arcadia_ and all of its characters belong to Barbara Hall and CBS Productions, in association with Sony Pictures Television. 

Suggested soundtrack: Fallen, by Sarah McLachlan.  Sometimes I wonder if that song was written for the show.  Just listen to the words!  

Chapter 2

Joan didn't come home in time for dinner that night.  Instead, she found herself wandering aimlessly through Arcadia, in search of anything that would bring her even the slightest bit of comfort.

            The soft light of a used bookstore caught Joan's attention, and she was inside browsing the aisles before she could stop herself.  Joan trailed her fingers along the spines of the old books, stopping in the religion section.  A rust coloured cover caught her attention, and she stared at the picture of Joan of Arc weaved into the tapestry-like cover.  Pulling the book off the shelf, Joan sat down on the carpet and flipped through the book carefully.

             "It's interesting, isn't it?" Joan looked up to see an older woman wearing a flowered skirt and a thick pair of glasses.  She had a kind smile.

            Joan sighed and waited for the woman to say something cryptic about the parallels between the book and her situation.

            "I'm not here to give you an assignment, Joan," the woman smiled.  "Is there anything you want to talk about?"

            "Go away.  I have nothing to say to you right now."

            "I understand that you're upset Joan, and that's ok."

            "No, you don't understand.  You couldn't possibly understand what it feels like to be so close to someone that you could tell them anything, anything at all, and they would accept it with no questions asked.  And then have it all ripped away again, because of a stupid misunderstanding."

            "Do you really think that that's a fair assumption, Joan?  Believing is a heavy burden, you know.  Would Adam have believed?" God interrupted with a look of genuine concern.  Joan couldn't tell if the look was directed towards her, or Adam.

            Joan frowned, thinking about what God had said.  

            "Think about it, Joan.  What you do is not necessarily something that people would simply accept.  Believing takes a lot of faith, and some people just don't have enough in times like these."  With that, the old woman turned, and with a trademark wave, she disappeared around the corner.

            Joan looked back down at the book in her hands, puzzled by what she had just heard.  If people believed in miracles, wouldn't they believe in God?  But maybe it was the other way around.  Maybe a miracle was what they needed in order to believe.  

            By the time Joan got home, it was far past dusk.  The porch light was on, but the family car was missing from the driveway.  She entered the house through the door in the kitchen, not entirely surprised to see her mother leaning on the counter waiting for her.  The expected 'Where have you been?!' and 'You better have a good excuse!' and 'You're gonna get it this time, Joan!' did not come.  Instead, Helen Girardi pulled her daughter into a tight hug.

            Luke stepped into the kitchen as this moment, and raised an eyebrow at what he saw.  

            "Where's Dad?" Joan asked quietly.

            "Out looking for you.  When you didn't come home for dinner…" Luke trailed off.

            "I'm sorry Mom, I lost track of time." Joan explained.

            "Come on, let's get you to bed," Helen replied, wiping the tears off of her daughter's cheeks.  

            As Joan drifted to sleep, she wondered if her parents' calm reaction was the calm before the storm.  They couldn't possibly let something like this go.  It just wasn't like them.

            The next morning came too soon, and Joan slammed a hand down on her alarm clock in anger.  It was not going to be a good day.  Joan spent all of breakfast picking at her pancakes (made by her mom, placed on the table with a smile and a reassuring pat on the shoulder) and waiting for someone to start yelling at her.  Her father left for work with a kiss on the cheek, and her mother offered a sad smile before heading out the door. 

            The walk to school was spent mostly in silence, or at least on Joan's part, as Luke questioned her about yesterday's events.

            "Luke, I don't want to talk about it."  Joan said quietly.

            "Well at least tell me where you were!" Luke pushed.

            "I was at the cemetery." 

            "What?! Why?" 

            "I was visiting Rocky's grave."

            "Oh…And then...?" Luke asked as they approached the school.

             As the siblings were cutting across the grass, they crossed paths with Grace and Adam.  Adam kept his eyes staring straight ahead, and continued without a word.

            "Adam wait!" Joan called.

            "Leave me alone, Joan." Adam muttered without turning around.

            "Joan?" Grace exclaimed in surprise, and perhaps a hint of anger, as she glanced back and forth between her friends. "We're back to this again?"

            Grace sighed and continued towards the school while Joan chased after Adam, desperate to explain herself.

            Luke was left standing on the front lawn of the school, completely confused.

            "What just happened?" He muttered, tilting his head to the side slightly.

            "Confusing, isn't it?" A young man in a tan jacket asked from behind Luke.

            Luke turned slightly, glancing over his shoulder.

            "Yeah," he answered quietly, "I guess you just have to have faith that it will all make sense eventually." 

            The young man nodded, smirking a little, and then followed the rest of the students inside.

            "Are you coming?" he asked over his shoulder.  "You'll be late for homeroom!"

            Joan fumbled with the lock on her locker with no luck.  She pounded her fist against the metal box, as if she expected it to pop open.  She dropped her backpack onto the floor, and tried her combination again.  The metal door screeched open just as Iris sauntered up.

            "Have you seen Adam?" she asked.

            "What happened to the nauseating nickname?" Joan sighed without looking up.

            "If you see him," Iris pushed a shoebox into Joan's arms, "can you give him this?" 

            Joan glanced down at the box, and then at Iris.

            "What's this?"

            "His stuff.  He left it at my house." 

            "Can't you give it to him? You'll see him in art class." 

            "Are you really that dense? Joan, we broke up."

            "What?! When?" Joan exclaimed. "Why?"

            "Yesterday night. I guess it just wasn't working.  Plus it was pretty obvious that he likes someone else."

            Iris turned and began to walk back the way she had come.

            "Iris, wait! I don't want to be a messenger! Iris!" Joan called down the hall, but gave up when Iris didn't stop.

            "Why me?" Joan muttered, leaning her head against her locker.

            AP chem was torture.  It was a fact that had been in the back of Joan's mind for sometime, but today was the epitome of torture.  Grace was in a terrible mood, and Adam was staring out the window with a look of pure anguish.

            As the rest of the class worked on their assignments, Joan pushed Iris' box towards Adam's end of the table.

            "Adam? Iris wanted me to give this to you." 

            Adam didn't reply.  Instead, he buried his head in his arms and pulled his hood farther up on his head.

            "Adam, just take the friggin' box before she throws herself at your feet." Grace muttered.

            "Stay out of it, Grace," Adam said without raising his head.

            "Technically you breaking up with your girlfriend isn't really any of my business either, so can you just take the box so we can both forget this ever happened?" Joan pleaded.         

            Adam sighed and grabbed the box, pulling into his lap as the bell rang.

            "Any questions you haven't finished will have to be done as homework.  I want your group reports on my desk at the beginning of class tomorrow!" Ms. Lischak called as students hurried towards the door.

            "Great! Now we have to do this for homework!" Joan grumbled.

            "Where should we do it?" Grace asked as the three students pushed their way down the hall.

            "I guess we could do it at my house," Joan sighed.

            "Fine. Joan's house after school." Grace said.

            "Fine," Adam muttered.

            The Girardi house was a hive of activity that day after school.  Joan, Grace, Adam, Luke, and Glynis were all crowded in the kitchen, munching on veggies and dip.

            "I guess we should work in my room since it will be pretty crowded down here," Luke suggested to Glynis. 

            "Oh no, you won't!" Mrs. Girardi shook her head as she walked into the kitchen.  "Luke, you know the rules."

            Adam balanced a carrot stick on a piece of broccoli, completely aware of Joan's eyes washing over his face, down his arms, and resting to gaze at his hands.

            "Luke and Glynis will work in the kitchen, Joan, Adam, and Grace will go to Joan's room." Mrs. Girardi decided.

            Adam stole a glance at Joan, curious to see her reaction.

            "Fine, let's go," Joan said, her voice almost sad.  Grace followed her friend up the stairs, and Adam grabbed his messenger bag and tucked the shoebox under his arm before following the two girls.

            When Adam got to Joan's room, Grace was sitting in the swivel chair by Joan's desk, and Joan was sprawled out on her bed with her feet resting on her pillow.  Adam sat down on the hardwood floor, his back against the end of Joan's bed.

            The worked slowly, and stiffly, struggling to get through the questions with as little communication as possible.  As the sun sank lower in the sky, Adam couldn't help noticing the way the sun etched ripples of light across Joan's face.  She squinted slightly, focusing all of her attention on the lined sheet of paper in front of her.

            "I've gotta go," Grace said two hours later, glancing at her watch. 

            Joan sighed and raised her eyebrows in question.

            "Hebrew class," Grace muttered with an apologetic shrug.      

            "See ya tomorrow," Joan offered her friend a small smile.

            "Later," Adam said glancing up.

            Grace pulled her leather jacket on and swaggered out of the room, leaving a heavy tension in her wake.  Adam turned back to his work, eager to finish so that he could get out of this torture.  He was supposed to be mad, yet for some reason whenever he looked at Joan he couldn't breathe, and his palms got sweaty.  He felt like a fifth grader experiencing his first crush, and there was nothing he could do to change the way he felt. 

            "Adam," Joan said quietly.  She had been watching him since Grace had left the room.

            "What Joan?" Adam forced himself to call her by her real name.  

            "Why do we always end up in the same place?" 

            "We're best friends with the same person," Adam explained, feigning obliviousness. 

            "No, I mean, _us_.  Why do we always end up in the same place in our relationship?"

            "We went over this yesterday, Joan." Adam said quietly.  This time her name just slipped out.

            "You left before I finished," Joan replied. "If you just let me explain…"

            Adam sighed.  He would wait forever if she needed it.  He turned so that he was facing her.  She was lying on her stomach, her feet on her pillow and her head propped up by her hands.

            "Ok," She paused, "where do I start?" she wondered out loud. 

            Her nails were painted red, and the polish was chipping off of her index finger of her right hand.  Adam cursed inwardly for noticing. 

            "The beginning is usually a good place," Adam answered, trying to sound impatient, although he was distracted by the crackling red paint.

            "Alright," Joan swallowed, scared that she was doing the wrong thing by telling Adam the truth.  "It all started months ago, a few days before I met you."

            There was a sudden know on the door, and both Joan and Adam looked up, completely surprised.  They hadn't heard anyone come up the stairs.

            "Time for dinner," Mrs. Girardi announced.

            "I should get going," Adam said, with a casual glance at Joan.

            "No, you should stay! There's enough food to fit a small army down there," Helen insisted.

            "I don't know," Adam hesitated.  It was too soon to let his guard down again, too soon to tell if Jane – _Joan_ – would turn away from him again.

            "Stay," Joan said as she got up.  "You can use my phone to call your father."

            Joan pointed to the phone on the nightstand and followed her mother out of the room.  Adam had no choice.  He was staying for dinner.    

Author's note: Thanks for the wonderful reviews! Finals are starting soon, so I won't be posting very often.  I'll try for once a week.  I know that's not much, but I hope you guys will stick with me!  This chapter was mostly filler, and I'm sorry for that! It's all part of my master plan ;)


End file.
